


closing the gap

by forgottenstonework



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Howling Commandoes, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, idk - Freeform, ww11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottenstonework/pseuds/forgottenstonework
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most everyone has soul mates, that was just how it was. It was an accepted fact. The marks, the words that spotted your skin, that's how you knew who the right person was. They would seem like unorganized scrawls to most people, but to the one who owned them, they were the most meaningful things in the world. t was almost like playing detective, trying to find your soul mate, that is. You never know who they were. Of all the things that could be written on a person, a name was never one.</p><p>Bucky never had to search. He just walked down the road and there his soul mate was, as if waiting for him to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most everyone has soul mates, that was just how it was. It was just a fact. The marks, the words that spotted your skin, that's how you knew who the right person was. They would seem like unorganized scrawls to most people, but to the one who owned them, they were the most meaningful things in the world. It was almost like playing detective, trying to find your soul mate, that is. You never knew who they could be. Of all the things that could be written on a person, a name was never one. Most people spent years of adulthood looking, searching for the right person. Bucky was lucky. He never had to search.

He just walked down the road and there his soul mate was, as if waiting for him to find him.

Bucky knew the moment he saw Steve Rogers in all his glory, the blood streaming down his thin face, the determined scowl that would someday become a signature painting his face, and blond hair glinting in the sun, that he was what his ma had been talking about when she told him about matches. It seemed impossible to think otherwise. There he was, the most perfect human being Bucky had ever seen, despite anything people would later whisper behind their backs. 

He knew it the second he saw the child throw himself in front of a goliath who easily towered over him, just to protect a little girl whose dolly had been stolen and tossed out of reach. He knew it in the second blue eyes flashed towards him, so quick it almost didn't register.

The nine year old felt the air around him close, his heart pounding out of his chest. He knew. He just knew. That boy, that boy who had gleaming eyes and unwavering features; he was the one for him. Never in his nine years was he ever so sure about something and never would he be again.

He ended up with a busted lip and a shiner that his mother gave him hell for, but it had been worth it.

\--

_Why are there words on my ankle, mama?_

_They’ll help you find your soul mate, darling. Dialog from your time together, details about their life._

_What’s a soul mate?_

_A soul mate is a person who is so important that it hurts to breathe without them. They are someone who makes life ten shades brighter, makes you want to be better, someone who makes you feel like you’re suffocating and revitalized all at the same time._

_\--_

They were ten, loose toothed, sunburned, and happy. They were fighting the world together, side by side, with faces to the sky. They were the little devils of the street. Steve would get them into trouble. Bucky’s innocent face and charming smile got them out of it. They were unstoppable. No matter how many times they were thrown into the dirt, they pulled each other up, fingers entwined.

They were eleven, walking hand in hand, palm in palm, as a teacher asked them to come out into the hall for a moment. They were eleven, unassuming, and best friends when a teacher told them they shouldn’t be holding hands. Parents were complaining. Little boys shouldn’t hold hands at their age. It wasn’t proper. Their seats were moved so they sat at opposite corners. That didn't stop the inconspicuously passed notes and rude gestures behind the teacher's back. 

They were twelve, best friends, and impossible to separate. They sat next to each other in every class. Bucky Barnes, a mischievous boy with words written in a swirling font around his wrist, would cause more trouble than a madman on a rampage if he wasn’t allowed near Steve. The school had given up on trying to keep them apart. 

They were twelve and a half when the lady at the front of the room, the specialist on soul mates, told the room that it was unnatural for people of the same gender to be made for one another. She glanced at them. Bucky squirmed, as if she could see into him and see his secret. See the sin bubbling in his heart, ready to burst if not constantly supervised. Bucky glanced down, willing his hand to stay in its place and not travel into Steve’s. He knew what he felt for Steve wasn’t wrong. It was beautiful. But they had stopped holding hands months ago. It had been Steve’s request. Bucky attempted not to feel the hurt pulsing through his veins.

\--

_What do the words on my ankle say?_

_Why don’t you read them?_

_I don’t know how! Please, can’t you try?_

_Sweetie. We’ve talked about this. The words are for your eyes only._

_What if you got a magnify glass?_

_To me, to everyone; just scribbles._

_Why? That’s not fair._

_So others don’t figure it out before you do._

\--

The night was a comforting softness that enveloped them in its arms. It shadowed the world, made it easier to accept, easier to contemplate without judgment.

The night loosens your tongue, he was told years ago. It makes the risks seem smaller, the fallout less looming, less likely.

They laid side by side, faces tilted towards the stars. Their breathing was in rhythm with the beat of the world.

They were into their teens and they hadn’t once spoken about soul mates, at least not each others. Bucky felt as if he was suspended in a timeless world. A world where nothing could touch him and nothing could touch Steve and they would stay how they stood for eternity. The thought made him smile. He wished nothing more than to be by Steve’s side for decades, centuries, as far as time could stretch.

He turned his head towards the boy next to him. The amazingly brave, selfless, good hearted person that surprised him every day, whose dark eyelashes shadowed his pale cheeks. His soul mate. He thanked the god he had lost faith in years ago endlessly for the person he had been gifted with. He wasn’t good enough for Steve. He felt it in his bones. Steve was meant for great things. Steve was meant to be a shining star. He wasn’t. Deep in his heart he knew he was darker than he’d ever like to believe.

It wasn't like he hurt anybody by scaring off potential friends. He just never wanted to share Steve. Because Steve was his and no one else's. No one deserved Steve, no one deserved to ever get to know him the way Bucky did. He would have been a completely different person if hadn't met Steve, but that wasn't the path that fate gave him. If he might have been the bully Steve so vehemently disliked, that had no business coming up into conversation, because that wasn’t who he was. Not now, not ever.

His mother was right when she said a soul mate made you want to be a better person. Because Steve amplified all the good in him, making the bad seem far away, so far away that he couldn’t imagine it ever coming out again. The only reason he was good was because he had Steve. The only reason he wouldn't be was if he lost him.

He listened to the air. The nocturnal animals calling to one another in mournful tones, the machinery in the distance rumbled with false life. They were all alone, the machines and the animals. They had no soul mate. His was right here, so close they were just barely separated. So close he could wrap himself in the other and never let go.

He whispered quietly, more to confirm to himself than to the Steve, “I would do anything if it meant I could have you.”

\--

_Do you have any words?_

_I used to._

_What happened to them?_

_They are lost to my eyes._

\--

When the war started, Bucky ignored it. He wasn’t ready for the limbo he had lived in with Steve for years to be broken. They were living with each other. It’d been years since they decided on the arrangement. Live together until they found their soul mates. Steve’s idea, it was. So Bucky went on dates. Steve stayed in and drew, occasionally wandering out into the streets, almost aimlessly. He was talented, that boy. For art, not wandering. It was Bucky's silent plea that hoped Steve had already found a home.

His soul mate would be a lucky lady.

He never told Steve that he left his dates early, that he usually danced one round and slipped off to the bathroom to never return. He would sit in alleys, smoking, pondering, hating the world and desperately longing for Steve. If he couldn't have Steve, he wouldn't have anyone. 

\--

_I have words in more than one spot._

_You’ll keep getting them until you and your soul mate are in sync, or so I was told._

_They’re pretty. I know what they say, now._

_Do you, dear?_

_I’m going to love my soul mate very much._

\--

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Steve. For godsakes, you could have at least spent my last night with me.” Bucky tried being furious. He tried being angry. When it came down to it, he was hurt. His sides were bleeding and his secrets were leaking onto the floor. 

Steve's face was hidden in the shadows, but his voice clearly displayed his disdain. “When I go on double dates with you, all they do is ignore me. I didn’t see the point in sticking around when they're just gonna look at you."

“What the hell does it matter, Steve?" He whispered to himself, _They’re not my soul mate; they’re never my soul mate._ He murmured quietly, "They ain't ever gonna be my soul mate."

 “How can you know?”

“Because I already found mine.” He cursed, but it was too late. It was the wrong thing to say, god was it the wrong thing. Steve never listen to him, never would. He thought Bucky's soul mate was some dame he had hidden away, out of sight an' out of mind. He thought that Bucky was ignoring her so he could take care of Steve. Because he thought Steve was helpless and fragile. It was a common argument these days. 

Steve slammed the door. He walked past him, into the other room. Bucky threw himself up, out of the chair. “Oh no you don’t, Steve. You don’t get to walk away from this. Don’t play the victim. I’m the one who is going to war tomorrow, leaving the things that I never thought I could live without.”

Muffled, from behind the wall, Steve yelled, his voice increasing in intervals. “And I’m the one who wishes I could be going to war. What do you think I was doing tonight? You saw me. I was trying to enlist. If I could get in, I could help. I could do my part. Don’t you know how much this matters to me?”

“How can’t you see it? How can’t you see what you mean to me? I want you to-- I need you to stay safe.”

“You have a soul mate, Buck. You should be with them. All this worry for me, it gets you nowhere anymore. They deserve to have you." He paused, before continuing with a slight tremor in his voice, "I can’t believe you sometimes.”

“You never listen to me, you never let anything I say to you mean a goddamn thing."

Bucky slipped to the floor, his heart clenching. The gnarly wood met his face. There was no escape, there was no way out. He was going to war and Steve would never understand. His voice cracked. “Steve…”

Later in the night, when Bucky was just slipping into the warm embrace of sleep, a sleep that would prove to be the last fitful night he had in years, he felt a body slip beneath the covers and lay near.

\--

_I love Steve Rogers._

_I would say you’re only sixteen, but you're as stubborn as a mule._

_I’ve loved him since the day I saw him._

_I know, darling._

_I love him and I can’t have him._

_I know, darling, I know._

\--

“I think I’ve found her, Bucky. I think I’ve found my soul mate.”

“Yah? Well good for you, Steve.”

“She’s like me.”

“That’s swell, real swell.”

“When this is all over, I think I'm gonna marry her.”

“Great.”

\--

He’s falling, falling, falling into oblivion. The last thing he sees is Steve. Steve, the love of his life. Steve, his soul mate. Steve, the boy who he protected with every atom of his body until the end. The boy who was no longer a boy and no longer needed his protection. His existence was pointless, he supposed, if he didn't have Steve. Now Steve was free of him. Free to soar, free to open his wings and fly.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing that blinked through his mind before impact, was a winter day that sealed his fate.

\--

Steve hadn’t been in school that day, and after a day of worry, Bucky ran the whole way to Steve’s apartment. When he knocked Steve’s mother answered the door. The lines in her face reflected the same thing he saw when he looked at his mom. He thought about what it would be like if he lost the boy with the startling eyes and brave heart, and he could understand the pain, the trouble living from day to day, that all the lonely had.

She invited him in and gave him a hot chocolate, her movements slow and deliberate. 

“You can’t see Steve today", she said after the silence had settled.

“Why?”

“He’s very sick.”

“I could help! I could make him feel better!”

“It’s best if you just go home, Bucky.”

There was a stretch of silence. Bucky focused his eyes on the clock ticking solemnly on the wall. There was a crack behind it, which he followed up to the ceiling. Up, up, up. It spread farther in father, past his imagination's limits.

“I need to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

“What is your attachment with my boy?” Bucky looked into her eyes, those tired eyes, and smiled politely. He knew how Steve’s mother was. She was a nurse and could spot a lie a mile away, and didn't take crap from nobody. He knitted his hands, feeling her scrutinizing gaze.

“He's my best friend."

She arched an eyebrow. Frowned.

"He's my soul mate."

Her eyes transformed, the curtain falling as if she expected what he was going to say, as if she predicted it a hundred times, but could never believe it to be true until this moment. She reached out, her cold hand over his own. “I’m sorry Bucky, I’m so sorry... but Steve doesn’t have a soul mate.”


	2. Chapter 2

The soldier sat glancing into space, into nothing. That's what they assumed. Mission. Retrieval. Memory wipe. Freeze. Repeat. What could he be doing, besides taking in the grimy wall, the way the water leaked from the ceiling and down the cracks? He had no memories, he had no opinions. The man he used to be was gone. Tucked away safely into a pocket of his remaining sanity. He was in permanent hibernation. He was infallible. The perfect weapon, the perfect soldier. He was their's. Nothing could change that now. What is Hydra's is always Hydra's.

They never worried about him straying, about his mind being breached. They had prepared. Tests and procedures and brainwashing and anything they could possibly think of. All the up and coming medical advances were tested on him. Test upon test; he was safe walled, wrapped in a layer of protection that was invincible. They couldn't lose him. They wouldn't lose him.

Contemporary scientists worried about soul mates. What a silly idea, yet one could never be sure.

Luckily enough, the Winter Soldier's had died.

From the cold, from the war, from the flu, from any untimely death that one could imagine. He was gone. The words on the soldier were readable to the world to see, impossible for the soldier himself. His soul mate was dead. Dead and gone and never to bring the American from his stupor.

The words, dulled with time and pain and the lack of their second half, could be found in three places, so small, so delicate, so frail. Few bothered to lean close enough to the glass to make them out, even less would dare lean into his personal space when he was breathing in the fumes of the world and sitting, staring, staring, staring into the wall. He had a reputation of being efficient, but rather unpredictable.

It had been years, decades, since anyone had been interested in those words. So long. They didn't matter and would never matter. They were the past, the history, old news.

Then along came a gleaming red head, a small thing, barely over twelve. She saw the tail end of the words. She was curious. Her own was a simple arrow, placed over the heart. As she grew older she would grow cynical. It was so cliche. An arrow through the heart; cute. But yes, as twelve year old, and although she had seen more than a child her age should ever, she still found her arrow comforting. It meant someone, someone meant for her, was out there waiting. He would save her.

And so, when the girl, Natalia, saw the words she was intrigued. This legend, the ghost who passed by without being seen, had a soul mate. One who died. She was never so curious, never so enthralled. It was so sad, so wretched.

After a mission he sat cleaning his guns. She perched herself, ready to make her move.

"Soldier, can I look at your marks?" He looked over with dull eyes. They looked like the eyes of fish left in the sun, baking after death. Lifeless. He pulled cloth out of the way, showing each of them to her.

"Thank you." She was surprised when she heard a voice come from his mouth. If she hadn't seen it herself, she wouldn't have believed it. He was not the type to initiate a conversation. He only responded to direct questions, as he had been trained. 

"Will you-- will you read them to me?"

She paused. What harm could it do? She read them softly, popping the syllables in time to a song she had heard on the radio.

He excused himself.

 

It took them six days to find him and two more to capture.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's point of view, pre-serum.

It was becoming a habit of his. He would turn in early, feign sleep, and wait until he heard the click of the door. Once Bucky had slipped into the night of shining lights, he would push the covers off and pull himself slowly out as bed. His bare feet padding against the wooden floors, he would make his way into the bathroom. The moon shone through the glass, lighting the room with its cool gleam. 

And then he would undress. He would take off his shirt, a warm fabric to keep him warm even in the summer months, and fold it carefully. Then would come his pants, his underwear, his socks. Anything that would be covering even a centimeter of skin. He stared himself down in the mirror, the sharp angles of his body looking more hallow in the searching shadows. The day masked the emptiness in his eyes, but at night, not even he could hide from the truth. 

He stayed still, looking straight ahead and willing some sort of mark to have appeared on his body. There was never anything but his scrawny body and the face torn apart by pain reflected back at him. Life was unfair and love, as he would decide countless times, was not all it was cracked up to be. Not when he could never admit how he felt. Because if he did, he would be stealing. And stealing was wrong.

 The mirror was an enemy that he always surrendered to. In his weakest moments his eyes would well, overcome by unspeakable emotion. He would sink to the floor, his naked body cold on the barren floor. He would scratch his skin raw, gasping for breath. There was nothing there as there always was. No matter how many times he would scrawl penned words on the skin hidden by cloth, they would always fade, drip in the rain. They weren't real. 

When he was younger he had been so hopeful, so youthful. He had faith that everything would right itself. He would eventually look down and there the marks would be, leading him into his soul mate's arms. Into Bucky's arms. But they never came. Year after year, day after day, he would pray to God that there had been a mistake, that he was meant for someone. A reply never came and one day, he stopped. He accepted the fact that while he would love Bucky with every molecule of his existence until the day he died, he could never let him know. He wouldn't tether the man down to  a man he would never feel right with. Bucky would always long for someone that Steve wasn't.

He knew how Bucky felt about him. He had known for years. Bucky loved him, he supposed. It wasn't unheard of. A person occasionally found themselves emotionally attached to someone who wasn't theirs. It was usually because of shared life experiences and close quarters, according to the books. They convinced themselves that they adored someone who they weren't supposed to. They mistook platonic love for romantic. Such situations never worked out in the end, with one breaking the other's heart and their true respective soul mates left without an empty spot in darkening their chests. 

It would be so easy to just lean in, place his lips on Bucky's. Bucky would allow it, embrace it, because Bucky never denied Steve anything.

That made it so much worse. 

Steve would tear at his skin, careful not to leave any lasting marks. He would curl himself into a ball on the floor and sob soundlessly. He was a freak, a markless freak. And he was a markless freak in love. 

When he heard a drunken fumble at the door, he would drape the clothes back over his treacherous body and stumble blearily out of the bathroom, as if he was just returning from a late night leak. 

He listened to Bucky's breathing, willing himself not to call out and spill out his deepest secrets, as his nails embedded in his palms. 


	4. Chapter 4

One of the longest lasting debates about Steve Rogers, _the_ Steve Rogers, was the matter of his soul mate. Historians spent chapters, entire books, analyzing the possibilities. Whose marks did Steven G. Rogers sport on his skin? Who did he leave behind or was he the one left first? Everyone had an opinion, and because there was no way of being sure, the fire stayed lit. The two major contenders were Peggy Carter and James Buchanan Barnes. There was internet threads composed completely of the back and forth of Team Peggy vs. Team Bucky, a historical and more widely disputed version of Team Jacob and Team Edward craze.  
  
Though the union of the same sex had been legal for over twenty five years, it still wasn’t completely accepted by the general public. And so, most sided with Peggy Carter for the following reasons;   
  


  * The picture of her in Steve's compass. 
  * Her heartfelt words in all the interviews-- _even after_ _he was_ _gone_ , _he_ _was_ _still_ _changing_ _my_ _life_ \--
  * Their close proximity through the war, even when Steve was a scrawny kid from Brooklyn.



Because the interviews and documents had always been vague, Team Peggy never had much stone cold evidence as to why she was positively Steve's soul mate. Easier for them, of course, was to say why Bucky wasn't.   
  


  1. He and Steve had lived together for years, and had been best friends for longer. If they had been soul mates, people would have known.
  2. Bucky Barnes was a skirt chaser. 
  3. Best friends is a lot different than romantic, non platonic, love. 



As for those who knew the truth, or at least something close to the truth, they never let on. The topic Steve Rogers and who he loved was none of their concerns. Despite their knowledge, it was taboo to pretend they knew how the good Captain felt. It was his truth, and his truth to tell. And it was truth he had brought to the grave, and there it would stay.   
  
Peggy Carter kept the truth very close to her chest and did not dare let it out of her sight. She had known, from the months of slowly gaining Steve’s trust, that he was mark less, as she was. Bare skin, blemish free skin. She had suspected it but hadn’t dared make any assumptions. He always looked as lost , as hopeless, as she had before she decided that marks did not rule her fate. Steve fell in love with her, or so he thought. He loved her, yes, but Peggy was not naïve. She always could see through him. When asked for a statement upon the matter, she shook her head and smiled. No comment.  
  
The Howling Commandoes never discussed it but it was a unanimous verdict. Cap loved Barnes, and Barnes loved Cap. It was plain to their eyes. The look of terror in their eyes when one of ‘em couldn’t find the other at the end of a mission, the sideways glances; it wasn’t hard to see, honestly. They would make joking remarks occasionally, but it flew right over the two’s heads. Though their hearts were bleeding by the end of the war, it was a small blessing to know that they were together, even in the end.  
  
When Steve Rogers woke up, it wasn’t until a day and a half later that he noticed the small red star almost translucent on his rib cage. All he could hear was screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, sorry for the slow updates.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry there's really a lack of editing on this it's just a rough draft, really, but it's taken me forever to actually get another chapter together, so I figured, hey, why not just throw this out there, bad as it is?

He was strong. He wasn't just Captain America, he was Steven Grant Rogers, and Steven Grant Rogers was a force to be reckoned with. To outsiders he seemed unbreakable, as unbreakable as his shield. To him, he was fine. Always fine. Lying to himself was easier than the truth. Despite popular opinion, there was a limit to his strength. He was approaching that breaking point with increasing speed. He wasn't sure where the exact coordination of that point was, but he had an approximation. And he was close. 

He had ignored the star. So what if he had a mark? So what if James Buchanan Barnes was dead, and fate just had to wait until the only one he wanted was gone to give him a stain on his skin? It wasn't important. He kept his shirt on when he worked out. He placed the mirror strategically to allow the least possible chance of catching a glance of it in a reflection. It wasn't fair to his soulmate, whoever the person was, that he decided he would have nothing to do with them, even if he found them. He knew it wasn't. But he also knew it wouldn't be fair to them if he couldn't love them the way he should. His heart belonged to someone else, thank you. 

So what if that person was dead? He'd have his heart taken out and put on a shelf, in that case. It wasn't for the taking, and it belonged to no one but a ghost. 

He survived the star. The Avengers took his mind off of that. After they disbanded, each on their own but easy enough to gather, SHIELD helped calm the restlessness that was building up in his chest. 

He couldn't lie and say he hadn't broken a couple of plates when the words appeared on the inside of his left arm. 'You're my mission.' He didn't like the sound of that, the look of that, the thought of that. Instead of just being melancholy about the whole affair, he was frustrated. Angry even. Why couldn't the mystical power that controlled this shit, why couldn't it just understand that Steve Rogers was done? He was done with soulmates. He didn't want one, not anymore.

The words were a hell of a lot more difficult to ignore than the star. Everyone could see the black smudge. Anyone. People commented on it. He tried to hide it, but there's only so many days you can wear a long sleeved shirt in the summer. Someone snapped a picture. 

He almost broke then, he almost fell into darkness. The person uploaded the picture. Tony Stark neutralized it, scrubbing it off the web, before it could spread. But that didn't stop the rumors, the whispers. He wanted to hide. 

He had been surviving. He hadn't been living, but he was existing. That should have count for something. He was doing fine, really. Just fine. Fine enough to survive. 

All of that changed, all of that changed in a single, brutal instant. He felt himself collapse, barely catch the shield that was thrown at him. It all changed because the man in the mask, the one that just shot Nick Fury, had a vivid red star on his metal arm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys its been so long (honestly I forgot about this) but I'm back.

The Soldier had a mission and he had a goal, the goal of the greater good. They told him if he succeeded in his mission the goal would be met. The mission was crucial, and failure was inexcusable. Failure was not an option. The mission was simple. The mission could be carried out with less than a round. 

Terminate Steven Grant Rogers, aka Captain America. Captain America must not survive. Captain America was a threat. He was the only one standing in the way of the greater good, the last one between them and the salvation of mankind. A shot through the head, a knife in his heart, a mixture of the both. It didn't matter. The overall objective never changed. 

It had been so simple. So simple. He was skilled, he barely human, he was infallible. The super soldier fought well. The man had an intensity, a passion, that he himself lacked. He was hollowed out with only the shell remaining. He felt nothing. Steven Rogers was in pieces, breaking inside and out, but he was also a man with a heart and a soul and reason to live. He wondered if he'd survive this, if he'd survive when he had nothing.

He had a kill shot. The man spoke, his head hung low. He could barely hear him, the quiet "do it" almost inaudible. There was a burning on his arm, in his heart, and in his head. The pain was unbearable. The look on Steven Grant Rogers' face was worse. 

He ran.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back! I changed things a little so just a warning. The mask doesn't fall off in the battle! Steve doesn't know the winter soldier is Bucky! Ok all caught up now

"He could have killed me." Natasha watched him, focusing on his hurt instead of the pain in her shoulder. "He could have killed me." 

"That doesn't change the fact that he tried, tried very very hard to kill you before. For all you know he got orders to capture you alive." Steve ignored Sam in favor of looking at his hands. She had never seen Rogers so broken, not after the Invasion, not even on the anniversary of Barnes' death. Of all the things she'd seen in her life, Steve Rogers giving up a fight, allowing himself to be pushed to the ground with a gun behind his head, had to be one of the most poignant and heartbreaking. 

He closed his eyes, his face scrunched with pain. Sam's face was emotionless. 

"He didn't shoot." 

Natasha had seen the window of time the Soldier had to take the kill shot, and it was a moment he missed. She wasn't naive. The only reason they hadn't been executed on the spot was because of the news copter. They couldn't have Captain America killed on his knees, not now. Capture was never the end game. 

She also saw the way the Soldier had froze -his body, his eyes, his mind- if only for a second. A second was too long for a man with his skill and experience. For his programming. Something had stopped him from shooting, just as Steve thought. She thought back to her time in training, to the Winter Soldier with the face she couldn't remember and the unforgettable words scrawled into his skin. Hill interrupted the conversation, but it wasn't her place anyways. 

Steve would have to find out on his own. She just hoped he would have the chance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so sorry. I started this in 2014?????? It's almost 2017??? I feel goddamn awful especially reading over all the kind words I got from people. It means a lot to me and if there's anyone out there who's been waiting I'm so sorry and this is for you.

He sat in the chair, his hands gripping the arms. Flesh on metal. Metal on metal. He could feel the slight crunch underneath his left hand, feel it give way like bone. 

He felt lost, like a small boy in the market, hundreds of faceless people. No where to go. He couldn't remember a time when he felt so desolate. So emotive. He doubts there was a time. Was he even human? He'd asked himself that before. Now, now he knew. He could feel his heart beating and he could feel it breaking. The man the bridge. The man with the shield. His mission. He knew him. 

His heart jumped at the thought, the words drawn into his skin by fate burning. He knew. 

A man sauntered to his side--a man-- Pierce. Alexander Pierce. 

"Mission report." 

"I knew him." 

He watched the man's eyes, watching for emotion. For a reaction. For anything. There was nothing. They were empty and cold. Bu--the Winter Soldier did not like those eyes. 

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that that man had known him. That they had known each other. Was it worth it?

Pierce denied it. No, you don't. You've met him on another mission. He is your target. He is nothing but a target. The Winter Soldier felt something small snap inside, a twig under foot in the forest. That man, he knew, was more than anyone would ever know. He felt it. That man, his target, was better and brighter and stronger than the world deserved. He could feel dozens of eyes on him. He calculated the risk and determined the potential outcomes. 

"You're on the right side, soldier. You're changing history. Doing the good work." 

"I knew him." In an instant it was over, a crunch beneath his left hand, and the rest was a blur. Pierce crumpled to the ground, his eyes open in surprise. There was screaming, after. Guns and hands and bright lights and blood. He was outside. He had three holes in his body and a laceration on his right arm. He would be fine. 

He ran.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I had posted this chapter last night but wow I noticed I had some serious continuity issues so I fixed those. Thank you to everyone for the kudos and for the comments. It means a lot to me.

Steve hadn't felt this level of pain in years. He could feel Sam's eyes on him. He knew he expected him to talk. He couldn't, not now. Not yet. 

He's not above admitting it. He's had a problem for a long, long time. He's been broken from inside, from before he can remember. This isn't a new development. The thing is, he's been practicing hiding it for just as long. 

When he was young, back when he still believed his marks would come in, his mother would hold him close and sing him to sleep. He would cough at night, sometimes he'd cough up blood. those nights his mother would skip work, god he felt so guilty, but she'd hush him and tell him how much she loved him, that nothing was more important than his health, his safety. Someday he'd find someone who loved him just as much as she did, someone who would take care of him, but until then, she would never leave his side. 

Of course, no one can predict the future, not even his mother. She couldn't know he'd watch her take her last breath, nor that he was markless. She couldn't. 

Steve loved Bucky with every inch of his body. He'd loved him since he met him, back when they were just boys and Bucky was missing two of his front teeth. 

He never knew what Bucky's marks said. He never asked. He thought that if he knew, it'd be the last straw. That'd it'd finally be what tore him apart completely. He could feel the devotion, the love, that eminated off of him. Bucky always looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered. 

It terrified him. 

He was markless and worthless. He felt so guilty, every second of his life. He felt even worse now.

That man was his soulmate if the red star was anything to go by. The Winter Soldier. It was what he had been waiting for. To have marks. To be able to say he was Bucky's soulmate. But Bucky was dead, and there are no happy endings. His marks itched. 

What was it worth now? How could he stand himself? What was wrong with him? He'd had everything he ever wanted back then. He had someone who loved him. He'll admit it. He will. Bucky died for him. Bucky was everything and he never said anything, never had the guts. 

He was in love but fate denied him the validation he thought he needed. James Buchanan Barnes was the brightest star, the only star, and his words wouldn't come to him. Not until after the ice. 

He'd been doing fine. Not great, but fine. He'd ignored the words and he'd fought for what he thought was right. He ignored the numb. 

The Winter Soldier and his goddamn arm caused everything to come flooding back. Fear pain sadness loss a reason to live. 

"Steve? Earth to Steve?" 

He flinched, whipping his head to the source of the voice. "What?" 

"You've been spacing out with that look on your face, the one that that looks like you're sucking on a lemon? Yah. That one."

Steve looked at Sam, waiting for him to continue. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I'm here for you." 

"I know."

"And you I support whatever decision you make about... but I can't let you go into this without-look. You tend to see the best in people, whether they deserve it or not. But that Soldier? He's a killer. I know he didn't kill you last time, but we don't know whats going on in his head. We don't know if we can trust him. Some people we can save and some people we put down." 

"Listen, Sam, thank you. But he's my so--"

Before he could finish the sentence, the sentence that would have unwraveled him completely, Natasha interrupted. "Guys, we have new intel. The Soldier is on the move."


End file.
